


3AM

by lipsstainedbloodred



Series: visible world [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: AU, Domestic Fluff, M/M, canon has no power here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipsstainedbloodred/pseuds/lipsstainedbloodred
Summary: Gerry comes home and Jon is waiting.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan Sims
Series: visible world [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679638
Comments: 13
Kudos: 248





	3AM

It shouldn’t be as familiar of a sight as it is, the gentle glow of the lamp in the window of that third story flat, but it feels much the same as a hug or a press of lips to the cheek. It's welcoming. Gerry spends far too long standing on the street below, staring up at it. The wind howls through the empty street, tugging at the ends of his scarf and the stray hairs that have managed to escape the semblance of a bun he’d attempted to tame them into. Another light flicks on, this one the small and feeble flicker of a lighter flame as Gerry lights a cigarette, cupping the flame with his hand to keep it from sputtering out. 

A shadow crosses in front of the window, a small, whipcord lean frame, before the window is being shoved open. 

“Are you coming in?” Jon calls down, voice stern and far too loud for the time of night.

Gerry waves his cigarette in response.

There’s a loud thunking noise as the window slams shut and Gerry leans against the wall, smothering a grin with his hand. Jon rounds the corner from the front of the building a few minutes later, hair loose and wild about his face. He’s thrown on one of Martin’s hoodies and it’s at least three sizes too large, hanging loose about his thighs and swamping his hands. Jon shoves up into Gerry’s space, hand already reaching for his cigarette.

“Thought you quit.” Gerry says but hands it over regardless, overly charmed by Jon’s spindly fingers poking out from that long sleeve.

“I did,” Jon says, taking a drag, “we’re sharing so you can hurry up and come to bed.”

Gerry snorts and takes the cigarette back. He doesn’t mind so much that Jon’s trying to take up as much of his space as possible, hips and chests pressed right together. Jon sneaks a hand under his coat and his fingers are like ice. Gerry hisses and flinches back into the rough brick wall. “Christ, Jon.”

Jon hums, little leech that he is, and steals the cigarette back. He presses his head up under Gerry’s chin and lets the warm smoke from his mouth curl around his neck. “Come on,” Jon urges, rough voiced, “bed.”

“Alright,” Gerry says, stubbing the cigarette out against the wall, “alright.” He manages to kiss the top of Jon’s head before Jon is stepping away, marching back toward the front of the building with intent. Gerry is helpless to follow him.

  
The flat is warm and smells like cinnamon and cedar. Jon kicks off his shoes aimlessly, not minding where they go, and tugs off Martin’s hoodie. Gerry sits down on the bench by the door to untie his boots, lips curling at the little piece of dark skin revealed when Jon’s shirt gets pulled up along with the jacket. Jon huffs and jerks the shirt back down much to Gerry’s chagrin, and then helps Gerry out of his scarf and jacket. 

Standing there in the hall in a faded Oxford rowing shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, his hair loose down to his shoulders and falling over his face as he tries to unzip and unbuckle Gerry’s jacket, Jon looks as dear as he’s ever been. Jon’s scowling, the dip and furrow of his brow impressive, and Gerry just wants to kiss it off of him. He shrugs out of his jacket and before Jon steps back he gets a hand on his neck, another cupping his cheek, and pulls him in for a kiss.

Jon huffs against his mouth, sounding put upon, but his hand where it wraps around Gerry’s wrist is unspeakably gentle. 

It’s almost painful to pull away, but now that he’s home Gerry feels exhaustion crash over him like waves to a shore. Gerry pulls back and Jon presses forward, bumping their foreheads together lightly. “Long night?” Jon asks, his hands skimming under Gerry’s black shirt, pressing into pale skin with intent. 

“Yes.” Gerry hisses and shrugs away those prying hands, “Is Martin already asleep?”

“It’s three in the morning.” Jon says, as if that were a proper answer. He prods at Gerry’s tense neck one more time before his hands fall away completely. “You should get changed.”

“You’ll have to get off of me.”

“I’m not even-” Jon takes a stumbling step backward, “You’re the one-” He huffs, flushing high across his cheekbones. 

Gerry grins and doesn’t bother trying to hide it. He makes his way to the bedroom, letting Jon turn the lamp off behind them. 

Martin is indeed asleep, sprawled out on his stomach and taking up most of the king size bed, duvet kicked down to his feet and shirt riding up under his armpits. Gerry takes a moment to struggle with the dresser drawer, an old hand-me-down of a hand-me-down that liked to stick and creak. Martin barely stirs when Jon climbs back into bed next to him, sitting cross legged next to Martin’s calves. Gerry doesn’t bother looking at what he’s grabbing and strips down. Jon’s eyes on him feel like a brand. 

He kicks his jeans and shirt toward the hamper, struggling to get a long sleeve shirt the right way around. He almost trips over his bottoms, green ones that were almost certainly Martin’s, the hem dragging the floor. Gerry climbs into bed, flopping on his back with a soft groan, the muscles in his shoulders pulled tight. 

Martin reaches for him instantly even in sleep, seeking out his heat, his hand landing and wrapping around Gerry’s forearm. Gerry’s heart thuds hard in his chest, and he leans over just enough to brush his lips over Martin’s temple. 

Jon’s hand wraps around his ankle. He’s still sitting upright, with no intent of going to sleep any time soon. He’s always slept poorly, even when they were kids still having sleepovers at Jon’s grandmother’s house, but he likes to be nearby when Martin and Gerry sleep.

Gerry folds in closer to Martin, until he can feel the hitch and catch of Martin’s breath.

“Gerry?” Martin mumbles, not even remotely awake, blinking bleary eyed in the dark.

“Yeah.” Gerry whispers.

“-‘lcome home.” Martin shifts so he can throw an arm over Gerry’s chest, pinning him to the bed and Gerry lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Gerry kisses Martin’s shoulder, then the side of his face, hands gripping at warm sleep soft skin wherever they can find purchase. Jon’s hand squeezes gently at his ankle, a light weight. “Love you,” Gerry breathes, because he can. He’s too full of it to hold it inside of himself anymore. He always has been.

“Love you.” Martin replies, his lips wet and warm against Gerry’s neck. Gerry can feel when he drifts back off to sleep, heavy and comfortable. 

“Come here.” Gerry says to Jon. There’s barely any space for him between Gerry and the edge of the bed, and Jon says as much.

“There’s no room.” Jon’s hand slides up from his ankle to his knee, squeezing lightly. “I won’t sleep anyway.”

“I know,” Gerry says, “I know you won’t, but I’d still like for you to lay up here. If you could.” He drops his voice low, “Please?”

Jon sighs but relents, climbing up to wedge himself on Gerry’s other side, his leg thrown over Gerry’s hip and a hand curling in his hair. Jon messes with the hair tie until it comes apart, fingers tugging as gently as knots as he knows how. 

“Thank you.”

Jon hums. His fingers never stop moving in Gerry’s hair, tugging out knots and twisting little braids over and over, until finally -content and warm down to his bones- Gerry falls asleep.


End file.
